


Things Done and Left Undone (On the Other Foot, or Hand, Whatever Remix)

by Spiralleds



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Brooding, Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, Humor, M/M, Morality, Predatory, Season/Series 05, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiralleds/pseuds/Spiralleds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angelus taught Spike quite a few things, now it's Spike's turn to reciprocate with Angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Done and Left Undone (On the Other Foot, or Hand, Whatever Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deird1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deird1/gifts).
  * Inspired by [On the Other Foot, or Hand, Whatever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/764768) by [deird1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deird1/pseuds/deird1). 



_It was a dark and stormy night…_

Angelus tore the page from William's purloined notebook, crumpling and tossing it into the fire. Hell, he was in hell. Or the vampire equivalent of purgatory – daytime boredom.

It was raining in London. A classically redundant statement. Darla and Dru hadn't returned prior to dawn, leaving him stuck with only the lad for company. Who remained passed out upon the divan, arms and legs splayed. A kitten fallen asleep on its feet following a bowl of cream. And like with a kitten, Angelus had an urge to run his fingers upon William's stomach and find out exactly what it would take to make him wriggle and purr.

When Angelus next looked upon the notebook, he was startled to discover he'd been sketching in it. William. The tight curve of his neck where it met his jaw. Stray locks falling across his forehead. As maudlin as the bloody poetry. But his hardening cock didn't care upon the quality of the art, just the potential of the figure before him.

It was then that William's lips opened part way, as did his eyes. Heavy lidded; wanton. With a blink it was gone, covered by the romantic's mask.

"Drusilla. Is she alright? And Darla? Have you heard from them?" William asked.

"No. It's still daylight," said Angelus.

Why did it bother him that this lad's thoughts revolved around Drusilla? Made his life easier to have someone attending to Dru's whimsy and madness. But he didn't want William's first word to be of her; he wanted that first word for himself.

"Right," said William, standing up and taking stock of things. "Nothing to do for it but wait."

Before thought caught up with action, Angelus was in front of William, one hand against his stomach, the other popping the top button of William's pants and dropping in.

"Ah, Willy," Angelus said as he clasped the other's cock. "I've just the thing in mind to make the time pass on."

"Wh-h-h-at are you about?" stammered William.

"Something I've left too long unattended," said Angelus as he folded to his knees. Before he was done, William would be screaming for release – and screaming his name.

* * *

The negotiations with the Furbäls was going better than expected. In no small part because Charles was a master of that Swedish Chef 'oh' sound, thereby avoiding calling their clients Furballs. Their dossier warned they considered the mispronunciation an insult. Last time the conference table had been left pitted from their hissing and spiting an acid-like substance. Angel's solution was two part: avoid using their name if possible, as he'd never had an ear for accents and secondly, send Harmony offsite for the entire day.

Now all they needed to complete the meeting was the codicil that on Angel's desk. He could picture exactly where it lay, making it easier for him to retrieve it himself than sending someone else for it.

Stepping into his office, even with the deal forefront, his attention was arrested by Spike's unexpected presence. Particularly the fit of his jeans over those narrow hips and tight ass. Perfect as a ripe peach.

Then came the guilt and shame, putrid and rotting.

However, those feelings were burned clean away as he smelled something akin to mimeograph ink and saw his desk covered with a bluish dripping pulp… where his papers had once been.

"What on earth?" Strange how his voice sounded only slightly strangled.

"Doin' a bit of field testing for your R & D lads," Spike said, openly smirking at him.

Angel wanted to kill him. Or kiss him. Or more honestly, fuck him senseless on the damn desk. Instead he grabbed Spike by the scruff of his neck, propelling him out the door and slamming it shut.

It wasn't enough to slake the fury Spike's stirred. "Fuck!" he roared, side kicking the desk so hard it hits the far wall. He knows he deserves whatever torture Spike doles out, even if petty. What leaves him troubled is how it arouses him.

* * *

He could have gone about the problem of William by doing the expected, showing his dominance by making William get him off, by bending him over and fucking him, but where was the finesse in that?

This wasn't to say Angelus didn't fantasize. With those long, slender fingers, that mouth made for a good suck, and that tight ass that begged for initiating… of course he gave it proper consideration. But that part of his plan came later. When William would think it was all his own initiative.

Now was the moment for testing if he'd gotten William to just the right precipice for giving a good fuck. Angelus' hands had been working William's cock to the edge and backing off, and William's babbling had become delightfully incoherent. A little more and the lad would stake Drusilla if it meant release.

Angelus leaned in, giving a suck to William's earlobe and getting an appreciative jump of the lad's cock in return. Then in a low growl, said "You’re going to fuck me so hard we both see stars."

The incoherent babble was still there, but with more couldn'ts and don’ts and other inanities.

"Shhhhh, William." And the lad shivered. He was ripe as a berry. "When we're done, you'll be asking why your old sire held out on you so long."

Then Angelus gave William what he claimed he wanted – to be let go. He turned his back, shucking his shirt and trousers, before sprawling out on the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see William, just as he'd left him, cock as hard as a flag pole.

"Now take my hips," he said, lifting up his ass, "and give me a good thrust."

It felt like eternity, wondering if his quarry would bite or bolt. But it was only three ticks of the clock before William's hands were on his hips, and just one more tick for pressure of his cock on his opening. He hissed, the pain and pleasure in perfect combination. But even more intoxicating was having William's complicity.

And damned if he didn't see stars.

* * *

Just being in the elevator, knowing that he'd soon be in his home – alone, was enough to ease the first layer of tension. A shower, then perhaps some Tai chi. That would take care of the rest. Maybe.

Today Spike had been everywhere in Wolfram & Hart. When Angel turned a corner, there was Spike. Entering a meeting room, Spike spinning lazy circles in his chair. At Harmony's desk, Spike snapping off pencil points. In the Break Room, arguing the rules of strip poker with two lawyers down to their glasses, undergarments, and high heels.

Angel had considered stopping by the lab to find out if they'd cloned Spike, but he feared the answer. So instead it called it a day. There was one place that was guaranteed to be 100% Spike free.

This made the presence of Spike with his hands behind his head, booted feet up on his coffee table, and that canary-eating grin enough to give him momentary ocular blindness.

"Impossible." Or at least it should have been, given Angel had full control of access to this level.

The grin grew wider. "Don’t think that word means what you think it means, mate."

"Get out."

"Make me." Spike said it as a dare, but for Angel it was an indictment of all the things he had made Spike do.

Angel shrugged. "Stay. Leave. Your choice. I'm taking a shower. For some reason, it's been a long day."

"You planning on locking that door too?" Spike called to his retreating form.

"Yes." And hated himself for hoping Spike might break that lock too.

* * *

Angelus looked over the top of his book. William scribbling at poetry. Drusilla at her painting. Himself with _The Portrait of a Lady._ The idyllic scene – if you didn't look too closely at the subject of Drusilla's work.

But he'd had enough of reading. It was time for a new experiment. With deliberation, he marked his page and set down his book. Then was across the room, with William pressed to the wall. Angelus gave a caress to the budding bulge in William's trousers, then popped open the fly.

William's eyes cut to Drusilla. "Please… don't…"

"Don't what, William?" Angelus crooned in his ear before sliding down and taking William's cock in his mouth.

"But Drusilla… and… we shouldn't... and oh, hell," babbled William, the pen dropping from his fingers.

As if on cue, Drusilla was no longer at her paints, but next to them. She clapped her hands, "You must have been such a very bad boy, William."

William groaned, his hand reaching for her, but she had already dropped into the chair next to Angelus. He cut his eyes over to her. Drusilla's face was free of its usual dreamy look, soaking in every detail. The tips of her fingers brushed her lips and her other hand was rucking up her dress.

Only pride in his self-control kept Angelus from smiling in delight, as it would ruin this quite exquisite act of fellatio. His perseverance paid off when William wrapped his fingers in Angelus' hair and began begging him, "Angelus. Please," in that way he loved to hear.

* * *

There were footprints in his hallway runner. Dark, wet footprints. Once upon a time his first thought would have been ectoplasm, a dark and dangerous force, and the need for extreme caution.

Now his first thought was Spike. Though extreme caution still applied. Particularly when he could hear him whistling a tune and banging around in the kitchen.

Angel thought he'd prepared himself for the worst. He hadn't prepared himself for a naked Spike. He closed his eyes. "Where's that ridiculous duster of yours when it could actually be useful?"

"You've got an icebox the size of a small giant. So where the hell's your beer?" Spike asked, popping the top off a bottle of blood, and taking a slug.

Angel opened his eyes. It hadn't been his imagination. Spike was wearing nothing but a smile. "Where the hell are your clothes?" He didn't even bother with, _Why are you showering in my apartment?_

Spike grinned just that little bit more. "What's it worth to find out?"

* * *

Angelus took a long pull on the cigar, considering the turn of events. They were vampires, for fuck's sake, not love birds paired up for life.

Yes, he'd meant to shake William up. Slough off the remains of that god-awful romantic and his notions of destined love. Their kind didn't love; they reveled. They took pleasure where they chose. Hadn't that been what he'd been teaching the lad since Dru brought him home?

So when his carriage had nearly run over Drusilla as she waltzed in the street, just blocks from where he's dropped off Spike how was off to find her, it felt like serendipity.

He forced out the smoke and took another pull.

Perhaps he'd miscalculated, thinking William would join them for a bit of threesome. But if nothing else, Angelus knew how to play the long game. William would yet be a creature of his own molding.

* * *

"It's like a middle earth battle in here," Angel shouted, as he pulled back, barely avoiding a gutting.

"Need hobbits and a slice of Australian countryside for that," said Spike, scooping up an abandoned ax from ground. "'Sides, these're just a few knots of dwarves."

"New Zealand," Angel countered, moving back to back with Spike.

"What's that?" asked Spike, followed by a grunt and the splat of what must be viscera.

Angel kicked out, cracking his opponent's knee and tumbling him down the stairs like a tapped domino."Lord of the Rings was filmed in New Zealand. Not Australia."

Spike snorted. "Nerding Nancy."

As always, Angel ignored the name calling. "How the hell did this happen?"

"I invited 'em in," said Spike.

Angel turned toward Spike, gaping. "You what?" Focus on the invasion. Focus on the immediate problem he told himself. But Spike was impossible to ignore.

Spike shrugged. "They wanted to see you. You're always goin' on 'bout the importance of bein' accessible to your clientele, so…"

Angel caught an arrow mid flight. It had been headed for Spike's neck. Only his automatic reflexes spared Spike, because every other part of his being wanted him dead. But then again, if anyone was going to kill Spike, it was himself, not some stray shot.

Just then the elevator opened, and well-armed employees poured out, with several scores more erupting from the stairwell. More than enough to mop up this mess. Angel threw Spike into the elevator, stalking in after him. "Those are schwartzen dwarves. They are convinced my dust has sexual potency, like a damn rhino horn."

"Suggested they try the oyster bar down the street, but they're pretty clear 'bout wantin' you."

"You did this intentionally?" Angel growled, his hand at Spike's throat, pinning him to the wall. "You need a lesson in—" Somehow, he was kissing Spike. And before he reached the point where he'd be unable to stop, Angel let go and stepped back. "I… that was…"

"About bloody time," murmured Spike, pulling him back in. "Been droppin' hints for weeks."


End file.
